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That’s a shame.Her involuntary response almost brought a gasp to her mouth but she controlled the impulse—just. But the way his eyes held hers showed he’d heard her thoughts anyway, or perhaps had a similar thought himself.
Lucinda swallowed to clear the thickness in her throat as she stepped out onto the deck. It ran along the whole frontage of his suite, with thick white concrete railings and tumbles of geraniums spilling over the edges, coating the air in bursts of pink and red. Clumps of daisies sat in terracotta pots and there was a small plunge pool, illuminated by turquoise lights.
‘Where did you go on summer vacations?’
Her hands squeezed the briefcase more tightly. ‘As a girl, my father would take me to Cornwall every year. We stayed at the same little house. Nothing grand—close to a cove, covered in stucco with seashells pressed into every available surface. I used to dream that I was a mermaid,’ she confessed with a soft laugh. ‘I loved it there. The air smelled of salt and sunshine, and the night sky was so clear, you could see every star in the heavens.’
She tilted her face towards him, to find his eyes settled on her features in a way that made her stomach twist.
‘What would you do on these vacations?’
‘Nothing particularly special. At least, not to anyone else. It was just the little, everyday things. We’d get ice cream in the afternoon—two scoops for me—and walk until we’d finished it; my fingers would get all sticky. I remember the sound of seagulls hovering over the fishermen’s boats, and the way fish would flip and flop in the nets. There was a black cat that belonged to the property, or lived there regardless of whether it belonged or not,’ she tacked on wryly. ‘Benedict.’ The memory came back to her fully formed and immediate. ‘He loved having the fur between his ears scratched. For dinner, we’d go to a little pub on the edge of the water: The Anchor and Grace. I’d get the same thing every night—fish with peas and gravy. I loved it.’ Her smile was wistful. ‘After losing my dad, all those memories took on a renewed significance.’
She didn’t look at Thirio. She couldn’t. She didn’t trust herself not to give into the emotion that was tightening her throat, and the last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him. If she had looked, she would have seen that he was frowning contemplatively, looking at the view of Knightsbridge, his handsome, symmetrical face silhouetted against the grey of the night sky and the darkness of Hyde Park.
‘After I heard about Evie’s wedding, I devoured every interview she’d done. I know that must sound creepy, but I wanted to be prepared, and weddings are so personal. From the first interview, I felt such an affinity with her and what she’s been through. Or more specifically, what’s missing in her life, because I feel that too.’ Now, she turned to face Thirio, steeling herself against the emotional response that was softening her insides. His face remained tilted away, so she could only stare at his autocratic profile, the strength of his cheekbones, nose and brow quite remarkable. ‘I feel it right here, you know?’ She pressed her fingers between her breasts, staring up at him imploringly, not sure what she wanted him to say, only that it was suddenly vitally important that he understand.
Slowly, he turned to face her, the strength of his chiselled features almost taking her breath away, because there was such beauty in his face, and such sadness in his eyes, that she ached to comfort him. Evie’s loss was also Thirio’s. Where Evie had spoken quite openly about the deaths of her parents, and how it had affected her, Thirio had been resolutely silent. There had been no interviews, and he had disappeared from that day onwards. But none of that was confirmation that he didn’t carry the same burden of grief. If anything, it was confirmation that he felt just the same, only he didn’t know how to express that intense loss.
Would he discuss it with her? Would he let down that wall, if she prompted him to do so? Or would he withdraw, and turn right back into the beastly, angry man he’d been that afternoon at thecastile?
‘I can’t imagine how hard it’s been, on both of you,’ she said softly, gently, giving him every opportunity to step slowly away from the conversation, to lead her in a different direction.
‘Can’t you? It seems to me like you can imagine perfectly. Your father’s death must have tilted your world off its axis, given how close you were.’
So he was going to deflect. ‘I felt very alone.’
‘And your stepmother?’ he prompted, his eyes tunnelling into hers. She felt exposed and seen, and Lucinda didn’t much like that.
‘What about her?’
‘Did she fill a role for you, after your father died?’
Died.Not a euphemism, like most people employed.Passed away. After you lost him.Went away.Thirio was direct and to the point. He knew this grief, he carried its heavy burden also, and so he spoke as one survivor to another.
‘You could say that,’ Lucinda prevaricated, not naturally given to badmouthing anyone. Life was too short to carry grudges—how many times had her father said that? It was for his sake she’d forgiven her stepmother on so many occasions, for his sake she’d turned a blind eye and just kept her head down, focusing on the work that needed to be done for the company to prosper.
‘But not a good one,’ he pushed.
‘I suppose you could say that,’ she admitted uncomfortably after a beat.
‘Yet you don’t want to say it.’
Her lips twisted in something between a grimace and a smile. It was strange how he understood her so completely. ‘I don’t know if anything’s served by trashing my stepmother behind her back,’ Lucinda conceded. ‘Besides, I think she’s done the best she could, given...’
‘Given?’ he prompted, when she snapped her lips shut, mid-sentence.
‘Her...personality,’ she finished without meeting his eyes.
‘It just kills you to say something negative about someone, doesn’t it?’ There was surprise in his voice, and it drew her gaze right back to his face.
‘Well, that’s not entirely true,’ she murmured softly. ‘I seem to remember throwing some home truths at your feet when I was at your castle.’
His lips flattened. ‘Nothing I didn’t deserve.’
She angled her face upwards. ‘Careful, Thirio. That’s getting awfully close to an apology.’
His response was a short laugh, entirely lacking in humour. ‘It’s not.’ But he brought his face closer to hers, their eyes remaining locked. ‘Let’s not forget, you were an unwanted houseguest.’
